"
"We'll play it is five-o'clock tea," said old Mr. King, at his wit's end to
bring the smiles into her face. Phronsie turned and gave him one look, then
buried her face in his waistcoat and cried as hard as she could.
"There, there!" The old gentleman got up to his feet and began to pace the
floor again, his white hair bent over her face, his hand patting her back
gently. "Don't cry, poor little lamb." And as a sudden thought struck him,
"Just look at your mother, Phronsie; you are making her sick."
Up popped Phronsie's yellow head, the tears trailing off from the round
cheeks till they fell on the floor. There stood Mother Fisher, quite still.
"I'm sorry, Mamsie," said Phronsie, and she put out a little hand, "I'll
eat the toast." So down old Mr. King sat again, with her on his lap, and
Mother Fisher cut up more toast, and Phronsie opened her mouth obediently,
and after the first mouthful she smiled: "I like it, I do." And Mother
Fisher smiled too, and said, "I knew you would, Phronsie." And Grandpapa
laughed, he was so happy, and Sarah kept crying, "Bress de Lawd! yer maw
knew best." And pretty soon Mrs. Fisher nodded to old Mr. King, and he
said, "Now for the rest of the milk, Phronsie," and the glass was put into
her happy hand.
And then more toast, and more laughing, for Grandpapa by that time told a
funny story, and everything got so very merry that the gayety brought all
the rest of the houseful of children up to see if Phronsie were really
awake.
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